You and Me and Him (23 page)

Tom turns to where I’m looking and catches enough of the performance to get the gist. He comes out of his seat in an instant and lunges halfway up the bleachers before I realize what he’s doing. He grabs one guy’s shirt with both hands and shakes him. The shocked kid’s head bounces like one of those bobble-head figures they hand out at baseball games.

“Tom! Don’t!” I yell.

He stops, his face showing the strain of reining in his anger. “Did you see what those assholes—?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I don’t need to prove anything. Douchebags like that never go away.

Tom lets the guy go, and he puffs himself up, bumping against Tom’s chest. They face off on the bleachers, testosterone crackling off both of them. I hear the sharp blast of a whistle.

“Mr. Pierce!” Ms. Perry yells.

“Ms. Perry, those jerks—” Tom starts to explain, but I shake my head. I get the feeling he’d like to cast himself as the hero, and he’s disappointed that I don’t want him to fight my battles for me.

“Miss Bower can take care of herself.” I might be imagining it, but Ms. Perry gives me a look that might contain just the tiniest bit of respect.

“Sorry, Ms. Perry. It won’t happen again,” he says. The final bell rings, and Tom descends the bleachers, walking past me without a word.

I jet out of the locker room after PE, then work on my math homework in the library until the hallways empty out a little. I’m almost to my locker when I spot a pack of guys coming toward me. A couple of the bleacher boys from PE, but the rest of them I don’t really know. I avoid eye contact, but one of them leans over and says in a low voice, “Hey, chunky monkey, you open for business?”

He runs his hands over the front of my shirt and then bumps against me, knocking me into one of his buddies on the other side. It’s over before I even register what happened, before I even believe it’s real.

“Tell your boyfriend we’re not finished.”

The other guys snicker, but I ignore them and speed walk the rest of the way down the hall. I lean against my locker door, the metal cool against my forehead. My heart is a jackhammer, trying to drill through my chest wall. I pound my fist into the green metal, then slam my locker open. A bright orange flyer falls out and floats to the floor. Picking it up, I scan for information. It’s for a party on Friday night.
KICKING IT OLD SCHOOL: A GOOD OLD-FASHIONED ’80S KEGGER
the flyer reads. I start to throw it away, but midcrumple I stop and reconsider. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Maybe the new Maggie goes to keggers. Maybe Nash and Tom and Kayla will see me differently if I start doing things differently. Maybe doing the unexpected is one of the ways I show them who I am. There’s also the possibility Kayla will be there and the even smaller possibility that I will take the opportunity to kick her ass. I smooth the flyer out and fold it, putting it in my backpack.

Cece’s waiting for me when I walk out the doors.

“You walking home?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

I try not to show my shock. “Not at all. Bluff or street?”

“Street?” Cece says. “It’ll give us more time.”

We walk without talking at first, enjoying the warm sun on our backs. Halfway up the hill, we both take off our coats. Cece ties hers around her waist like everyone used to do during recess in elementary school.

“So, I’m sorry I got caught up in the Tom and Nash thing. I know you made a mistake, but it’s not what it seemed like at first.”

“Yeah, it’s all pretty much sucked. But I don’t blame you for being mad.”

“Still, I should have known, as soon as he told me what he’d heard, and that he’d heard it from Kayla. I should have known.”

“It’s okay. I get it. I know how you feel about Nash.”

“Yeah. And he’s really, really mad at you.”

“I’m kind of getting that message.”

We’ve reached the top of the hill and take a break on a bench near the bus stop. There’s a slight breeze, and the ripples on the lake are diamond studded from this angle. “Cece? Can I show you something?”

“Sure.”

I unzip my backpack and pull out the flyer. Cece reads it, her eyes widening.

“Are you going?” she asks.

“Maybe.”

“Nash won’t be there.”

“I know.”

Cece hands the flyer back. “What’s the point? What are you going to do if you go?”

I fold the kegger information and tuck it into my backpack. “I’ve got to do something.”

“You should go,” Cece says. “You should go, and if Kayla’s there, you should tell her off.”

“You really think I can?”

“I know you can,” Cece says, grabbing my hand. “But I’m glad it’s you instead of me!”

I step into the dark hallway and cringe. The smell of sweaty boys and desperate girls stings my nostrils. Several of Cedar Ridge’s finest are already drunk enough to totter on high heels. I swing left into the kitchen. Grabbing a red plastic cup, I inscribe a capital
M
on it with a fading Sharpie and offer the cup to Sean Carp, who’s manning the keg. He looks at me, skeptical as he fills the cup halfway with nasty beer and too much foam.

“You sure?” he asks as he hands me the cup.

I nod and head back through the narrow hallway to the living room. I almost spit my first swig of beer right back into the cup. Nash and I never drink, mostly because of how much he hates his mom’s drinking. But Nash isn’t here, isn’t anywhere for me right now, so I swallow a little more beer and step into the main room. In the semidarkness I can see several couples making out in the corners while the as-yet-unattached talk in morphing clumps in the room’s center. I roll my eyes again and scout out possible escape routes that aren’t blocked by horny couples in mid-clutch.

“Oh my God! Maggie!” someone squeals, and I spill half my beer as I am bumped from behind. No great loss.

I wheel around but stop short. Standing in front of me is a very tipsy Kayla. She’s only keeping her balance by draping herself all over Tom. He doesn’t look totally sober, but he’s got way better balance than Kayla. Two or three of her groupies hover behind them. I take a swig of the beer and paste a smile on my face.

“Hey, guys,” I say. “Great party, huh?”

“What are you doing here?” she asks. Kayla clings to Tom like ivy on a tree. He keeps trying to detach her, but this only makes Kayla clutch his arm tighter. Even with Tom as support, she sways a little. Her friends whisper, watching me closely.

“You don’t party!” She turns to Tom and says, “Maggie never comes to parties, Tom. Never ever!” Tom has given up trying to get Kayla to stand on her own now. Kayla grins and wags her finger in my direction. “But I’ve heard you are doing a lot of things you never do. Crossing over to the dark side, I hear. Naughty, naughty!”

I still have my fake smile on, but I have a brief fantasy about throwing the rest of my beer in her face, maybe hitting Tom in the process. It would be unavoidable, really, as close as they’re standing. But I don’t; I don’t say anything. Maybe it’s pure chicken-shittery, but now that she’s in front of me, I realize I’m not really sure what I want to tell her. I need more time to sort out her mistakes from mine. More time to figure out what, exactly, I’m pissed off at Kayla about. She told people about the kiss, along with some pretty serious elaboration. She embarrassed me and wounded my best friend so deeply he won’t even talk to me. But she didn’t ruin my life. I did that myself. I’m the one who kissed Tom. I’m the one who let her back into my life.

I lift my cup and drink a toast to Kayla, but she has lost interest by now and is squealing someone else’s name. She lurches across the room to her next victim, dragging Tom behind her. Catfight averted for now. Suddenly I feel sick from the sour smell of my beer cup. I need some air.

I make a move for the patio door, but someone throws an arm across it right as I reach to slide it open. “Not leaving so soon, are you?” purrs a voice, and I look up into the face of the boy who groped me and called me “chunky monkey” in the hallway. Jack or Jay or Jake, something like that. He’s got at least a foot on me, with the thick neck of a wrestler or steroid user. Or both. His breath smells of beer and something stronger, skunky and acrid, like pot, maybe. He’s still upright, but his inhibitions are no longer a factor in his decision making.

I feel the atmosphere shift as a couple other largish bodies move in behind me, corralling me and blocking me from the rest of the room. Gripping my beer, I try not to panic.

“Yep, curfew and all that.” I move to duck under his arm, but he’s too quick in spite of the booze.

“No, no, no. Not so fast. Let’s get to know each other a little better.” Jake—at least I’m pretty sure that’s his name—runs his fingers along my chin. I shiver, and he seems to take it for excitement. “Did your boyfriend move on to hotter pastures?” His voice still has that purr in it, but there is menace underneath.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Whatever. It looks like he’s left you to fend for yourself. That’s not very nice of him. But it’s nice for us. Maybe we should show your boyfriend what happens when he leaves his girlfriend alone at a party.”

His friends start to press me toward the sliding door—gentle, but insistent. The two tree trunks in letterman’s jackets cross their arms and stand between me and the party while Jake backs me up against the door. I allow it because my skin crawls at the thought of them touching me.

“Alone at last,” Jake says.

“Yeah, just the four of us,” I say.

J-hole stares at me. “That’s hilarious. You and that Tom guy think you’re fucking comic geniuses.” He puts his hands on the slider and leans in close. I can smell he’s put on way too much body spray, and it mixes with the beer and pot smells, turning my stomach. For a minute I sort of hope I puke on him.

“Well, I’m not really in the mood for comedy right now. I’m in the mood for other things. And I’ve heard you offer just about all of them. Full service.”

I freeze.

“I’m here to find out if the rumors are true.” He starts sort of mauling my neck with his tongue. He has me boxed in. I squirm, trying for some leverage, but Jake has height and physics on his side. And I get the sense this is not his first time with an unwilling victim. He tries to kiss me on the mouth, but I keep swinging my head around, trying to keep him from making contact. He grabs my jaw, maneuvering my face so his lips can find the mark.

“Hold still,” he says. “Just enjoy it.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” I steady my voice, but my hands are shaking. I inch one of them behind me, trying to get a grip on the door handle. I’m still shifting, dodging his lips and looking for an escape route.

“Jesus! I don’t even know if it’s worth it!” Jake grips my shoulders, trying to get me to hold still. “I shouldn’t have to work this hard to get some from a fat cow like you. Seems like you should be honored.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” I drop my head, pretending to be defeated. Meanwhile my hand finds the handle, and I brace myself to open the door.

Jake smiles and turns to his buddies to share his moment of triumph. As soon as his eyes are off me, I open the slider, backing through it as Jake falls toward me. But he’s tall, and it seems like he’s going to land on top of me, so I raise my hands and pull my knee up to protect myself.

The knee connects with Jake’s crotch as he stumbles, trying to catch his fall. Jake sucks in a huge mouthful of air and goes stiff, then doubles over in pain, clutching his damaged groin.

“You bitch!” he wheezes.

His friends rush in to help, and I run into the darkness of the yard. Crouching behind some evergreen bush that smells like a mixture of Christmas and cat piss, I gulp air as Jake pulls himself together and hobbles back into the party.

My heart has finally slowed to a reasonable pace when I see Tom come outside.

“Hello?” he says into the darkness from the corner of the patio.

“Shit!” I say, putting my hand over my mouth. Tom is either not the guy I need to see at this moment or exactly the guy I need to see at this moment. Until I know which, I keep quiet.

“Is someone out there?” Tom squints into the yard. He takes a swig of his beer. “Who is that?”

“Screw it,” I whisper to myself, then move into the faint light from the living room. “It’s me,” I say. My hands are still shaking, and I can still smell Jake’s cologne. I keep my distance from Tom so he can’t tell how messed up I am.

When he sees me, Tom shakes his head and looks off into the darkness. My stomach drops. Whoever he expected to see out here, it wasn’t me.

“Yeah, sorry.” He turns back to the house. “I saw those guys come inside and thought someone might need help. Anyway, I’ll go.”

“Tom, wait.”

He doesn’t turn around, but he doesn’t move toward the house either. I take a couple steps closer to him. He finally looks, and now he can see something is wrong. My face starts to crumple, but I force it back to neutral.

“Whoa, Maggie, are you okay?” he says, closing the distance between us in a few long steps. He drops his beer and reaches out to gather me into his arms, and I resist for a minute, but then let him hold me until the shaking stops. “What happened?” he whispers. “Was it those guys?”

I nod.

“Did they try to—”

“Yeah. But then they got bored and moved on to a meaner, drunker version of the usual cow jokes.”

“I’d love to be your knight in shining armor, but it looks like you took care of them on your own.” Tom pulls away so he can take a good look at my face. He’s swaying a little, his face flushed from the beer, and his hair is messy, probably from Kayla running her fingers through it.

“I’m okay. I’m fine,” I say, and I think it’s the truth, at least for the moment.

Tom smiles, his hands still holding my shoulders, and takes a step closer to me.

I want to let him comfort me some more. But after the beer, and seeing Tom with Kayla, and the wrestling match with the Three Stooges, I can’t handle any more drama right now. I cross my arms over my chest against the cold and the crappy night and against whatever it is we’ve got to say to each other.